


Halfway There (With Nowhere to Go)

by Le_Noir (Psycho_Chiquita)



Series: The One Where They're College Roommates [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: AU of an AU, Anal Sex, Asexuality, Blooming, College/University AU, Demisexuality, Don't Kill Me, Established fake relationship, First Time, Fragrance, Frottage, Harvey is a good bro, Jim has insecurities, Jim is oblivious af, Jim is obsessed with Oswald's freckles, Loud Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oswald spells everything out, Sexual Tension, Top Jim, bottom Oswald, graysexuality, roommate au, the softest rough sex you've ever read, well that's a tag now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24037927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psycho_Chiquita/pseuds/Le_Noir
Summary: It's one thing to have a crush on your roommate based solely on the desire to fuck them.It's a whole other demon to ardently want to make passionateloveto them.Especially, if,Your roommate is Ace.
Relationships: Harvey Bullock & Jim Gordon, Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Series: The One Where They're College Roommates [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734007
Comments: 13
Kudos: 37
Collections: Gobblepot Spring 2020





	Halfway There (With Nowhere to Go)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my _gOD_ how did I not die this past few months?
> 
> Alright, let me lay it out, in the span of ONE MONTH, I-
> 
>   * Helped in the structure and opening of a stall in a food hall
>   * Went on my honeymoon after waiting a year to save up
>   * Find out I hate beaches (thanks Hawaii) even though I grew up next to the coast
>   * Come back and re-design the menu we JUST put out
>   * Pitch an idea to a potential investor to open my own food stall
>   * Fucking STAB MYSELF IN THE GOD DAMN ASS (okay so like blood isn't warm anymore when it comes out and pours down your leg, just fyi)
>   * Find out I HATE. MORPHINE.
>   * Have to stay on the sofa for a week because hole in asscheek
>   * Re-learn how to walk again
>   * With a cane
>   * Do the sales pitch and gain an investor. Who couldn't tell I had been stabbed just weeks prior.
> 

> 
> So yeah like, this bastard still rolling on eir back like a fuckin roly poly from hell, Satan couldn't kill me and now God has a lot to answer to.
> 
> Anyway, here's first porn I publish. Be gentle with me, it's my first time.

* * *

“Cuttin’ out early Jimbo?” Harvey calls out over his mug, one eyebrow raised pointedly towards Jim’s direction across the table.

“Yeah, actually, I have something else I gotta get back to at the apartment,” Jim replies with a sigh. Idle hands adjust the strewn napkins scattered across the wooden table and swing the handle of his half-emptied beer mug back and forth.

“Gonna go back to your loverboy-” “Harv,” Jim cuts him off with a groan. “I’ve told you thousands of times already, it’s not _like_ that-”

“Yeah yeah, he’s good with cards ‘n shit,” Harvey waves him off.

“Harvey, that’s _not_ what ‘Ace’ means-”

“Y-you know, he ‘n this guy, been together once before?” Harvey swings to ask a lone drinker at the table next to theirs as if they’ve been a part of the conversation the entire night. “Wait, _twice_ ,” he corrects himself with a squint and a raise of two fingers.

Jim heaves out a tired sigh. “You know that was for convenience.”

“Yeah, and acc’rding to both yer moms you two ‘make a lovely couple’. ” He looks to the bottom of his mug in deep thought. “They’re right y’know. You two look abs’lutely _adorable_ in those matching Christmas sweaters you had on in yer last holiday card. Don’t think I haven’t seen it in the bookshelf.”

“We wouldn’t have told our moms we were dating if it wasn’t for _you_ giving us the idea in the first place,” Jim replies with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah? And look how well it turned out. You guys moved in together!”

“As roommates, because our dorm period was up.”

”You turned down my offer of moving in with me. _Again_. To room with him. _AGAIN_.” Harvey accentuates to drive his point. “If anything, I’d say you like him more than me now, try’na keep me away,” he says with a pout.

“Because distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Jim claps his cheek gently with a soft look before shoving him away. “I think it works out better if we don’t stress each other out sharing a roof.”

“Is it because I’m too pretty?” Harvey asks through a slur, and Jim nearly knocks himself out with how hard his forehead drops to the wooden table.

”I never should’ve told you I’m bi.”

“That’s not a no.”

“No Harvey, it’s not because you’re too pretty,” Jim replies with a sluggish raise of his head. “It’s because you’re drop-dead gorgeous,” he continues with a lame shake of his head and an exaggeratedly tight-lipped smile. Harvey lets out a giggle before his lips drop into a frown.

“Not as gorgeous as your boyfriend,” Harvey laments.

“Harv-”

“Must be great, getting away with shit because of a nice smile and a fancy suit” Harvey gripes. “He’d probably get away with murder if he had it in ‘im, what with those freckles of his. Y’know the little shit still ain’t compisate, co-pisate… con-” Harvey stumbles over his words, working his jaw and rolling his tongue until he gives up on the word completely. “Payback. He still hasn’t paid me back for puking all over my hallway closet last year. Your, homecoming thingie.” He returns to nursing his beer and Jim lets out a tired sigh.

“That was an _honest_ mistake, he could’ve sworn the bathroom was the second door to the right-”

“Yeah and it was the first one on the left and I still have to toss in a can of air freshener tied down with a rubber band every other week,” Harvey gripes in return, intending on taking a small sip out of his mug but ends up tipping the damned glass over too far and splashes the brew onto his chest with a scowl.

Jim claps Harvey on the shoulder with a sobered stare. “Starting to reach your limit there, brother, you just called Oswald pretty.”

Harvey looks over to Jim with a confused squint. “I did?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head in stubborn denial. “No. No way.”

Jim gives him a wide-eyed solemn nod.

“Nope,” Harvey insists, crossing his arms and burrowing himself into the wooden chair. “You’re just putting words in my mouth,” he accuses. “Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout him.”

“That’s, no, don’t turn this back on me.” Jim crosses his own arms.

“Ya gotta admit, this whole, thing,” Harvey waggles a finger towards Jim, “def’nitely ain’t platonic. I mean, you two are practically inseparable at this point. You drive him everywhere-” “Just being considerate of his bad knee,” Jim interjects, and Harvey plows right over him.

“Yeah, you were also considerate enough to buy him a Christmas present _after_ Christmas, when you two barely knew each other.”

“ _What?_ ” Jim shoots his arms up in defense. “It was _one_ time. A ‘thank-you’ gift for spending half of his first Christmas break being dragged along to some random house. How the hell else was I supposed to thank him for putting up with my family on such short notice?”

Harvey rolls his eyes. “I dunno, just say _‘thank you’_ ?” Jim responds with a scoff and a mild roll of his eyes. “Oh, yeah, _I’m_ in the wrong for showing him an ounce of gratitude.”

Harvey tosses an arm in dismissal. “Just saying, maybe an ounce was too much, he’s been clinging on’ta ya like a damn koala lately. Anytime you’re out for a drink he’s practically hangin’ off your arm. I’m surprised he didn’t come along tonight.”

Jim gives him a pointed glare and Harvey raises his hands in surrender.

“Yeah, okay, fair, he wouldn’t be caught dead inside Finn Hall but this place is an institution a’right?. Cheap beer, free pool, foods eh, ‘s a goldmine.”

“Yeah, because being caught dead inside of a sports bar is what Oswald has an issue with,” Jim deadpans.

Harvey ignores him in favor of dragging on his rant with a wave of his mug. “But besides that, you guys go to the movies together.”

“Yeah? It’s whenever we need a break from classwork,” Jim defends. Harvey hums in acknowledgment. “I guess. Not like you two sharin’ a drink and popcorn.”

Jim answers back with silence, which is all Harvey needs to stop his attempt at swigging his beer and gawk at him. “Seriously?”

“It’s cheaper to just share!”

“Jimbo, they have _student_ _discounts_ for a REASON.”

”It’s more convenient that way,” Jim responds through a bite.

Harvey takes a slow swig from his drink as he muses over Jim’s response.

“Almost sound like it ain’t convenient for you.” He gives him some space in the beat of the quiet before prodding again in a more careful tone. “Something bothering ya?”

Jim mulls over the silence he's offered, his tongue restlessly rolling against his teeth in an effort to keep his mouth shut. 

“Yeah. I don’t think I have room for another one,” he says with a poke at his nearly emptied mug, so falsely it’s obvious to Harvey he’s desperate for a diversion.

“Need anything else?” Harvey is considerate enough to ask attentively.

Jim just nuzzles into his arm with barely hidden lamentation. “Water.”

Harvey is too enthusiastic when he sets his mug down to straighten himself out, way too excited for the excuse to get up for it to be anything other than self-benefit. He looks over his shoulder with nothing short of eagerness, and Jim follows his gaze to the redhead behind the counter he’s briefly been acquainted with before when getting his own drinks. He grins with mild delight.

“You should ask her for a smile on the rocks,” Jim offers with a slight tone of amusement.

“What? No, that, what? Pfth, sounds lame,” Harvey waves him off with a grimace, looking back and forth from Jim towards the bar as if she might’ve been able to hear them across the room over the other drunk patrons and the handful of TVs.

Jim shrugs. “Worked for me before.”

Harvey gives him a suspicious glare before tossing back the last of his drink and dragging his chair back to stand, giving him another stare before making his way to the bar in what was supposed to be a swagger, but ended up being a poorly disguised drunk man’s slump. Jim watches him from his seat, finding the whole thing entertaining. He didn’t clarify the objective of the pick-up line was to make Oswald groan with distaste and forbid Jim from talking for the rest of their round of backgammon. But then again, Harvey didn’t ask.

His mind wanders to idle thoughts as he looks towards his friend walking away, without actually _seeing_ him. He’s too busy trying to force out thoughts of Oswald failing to mask his smirk under a grimace after banning Jim from talking. He’s not thinking about the way Oswald’s slender hand hovered over Jim’s captured piece on the bar of the board, slightly possessively, almost as if claiming a part of _him_. _Definitely_ ****not**** thinking about how Oswald runs his tongue over his lips when in deep concentration, a want curling from within his-

A sharp laugh cutting through the bar pulls Jim back into the now, shaking him from his reverie as he blinks away his not so intrusive thoughts and turns towards the sudden outburst. The bartender is laughing with her head thrown back, one wrist draped over her forehead while her other hand is griping her side of the bar to keep her from doubling over. Harvey, however- If it seemed that Harvey had a flush going on before, his face is for sure beyond that shade of red now. Jim has to let out a laugh at Harvey’s expense as he makes his way back towards the table, one mug topped off and the other replaced with water.

“You gotta admit, that was kinda funny.”

Harvey grumbles as he slumps himself back into his chair. “No it was _not_.”

“It was a little,” Jim says with a quiet shrill.

“I never had to take any of this from my seven brothers and sisters.”

”You do _NOT_ have seven brothers and sisters.”

“Sure I do, how do you think I can hold it in for so long? Four pints and not a single trip, that’s what happens when you share a single bathroom.”

“Harv I’ve been to your parents’ house you have at least _three_ bathrooms.”

“Downside of sharing a bathroom is sharing the washrag,” he drones on with a shiver. His eyes suddenly snap open wider as he shifts his gaze towards Jim.

“Don’t you ever worry about body cross-contaminating in the bathroom?”

Jim pauses mid raise of his glass of water. “I’m sorry, _what?_ ”

“Y’know, like you’re in th’ shower, and in middle of using a bar of soap you stop n’ realize _Oswald rubbed this all over his body last_ and it’s like, it’s like one of those Japanese comic thingies where they’re worried about sharin’ a drink because is an indirect kiss, what if, what if sharin’ the bar of soap is like indirect third base? Or is it second? I’m bad at ‘membering baseball.”

Jim is rubbing fiercely into his temple, trying to work out the migraine as fast as Harvey is causing it. “Look, first of all, I use gel. Second, that, that’s probably-I have no idea how you worked out a stupid rant about soap to be both homophobic _and_ somehow racist at the same time I-”

“But I didn’t even say anything about Puerto Ricans.”

He rocks back on his chair with a tired sigh before swinging his head forward in a quiet slump and suddenly giving in to a fit of hysterics. Some of it directed towards Harvey being able to spin literally _anything_ into something completely off the rail absurd, but mostly towards being brought back to what he was trying to keep away. He already fought off memories of them playing board games together, the last thing he needs is to visualize Oswald taking a shower.

In front of _Harvey_.

Through the tenseness stretching between them, Harvey offers a quiet “Sorry” towards Jim, causing him to lift his head with a raise of his eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” Harvey laments once more, his head hanging low. “I know I give you two shit all the time, and I honestly don’t mean to upset you over it, it’s just, I don’t know how you don’t see what everyone else does.”

Jim looks up expectantly at Harvey. ”You two. Just, together, y’know?”

And Jim does know, he just didn’t think he was _that_ obvious about it. And if Harvey knows, hell, if anyone with _eyes_ knows, then maybe Oswald knows, and he’ll have to brace himself for the day he decides having Jim close by is _too_ close for his comfort, decides instead he’d rather rent out one of the Sawyer Heights lofts like he’d talked about when they were first years.

Or maybe, maybe Jim will go home one day to an empty bedroom, the apartment void of anything pertaining to Oswald. He’s terrified of the heaviness in his chest at the intrusive thought, but it’s not like Jim has anything else to offer Oswald other than companionship to convince him to stay.

They’ve talked about Oz being Asexual, but not of him being Aromantic, and although Jim is fully aware the two aren’t mutually exclusive he doesn’t think Oswald would ever see him in the same light he sees the ravenette.

Jim doesn’t have a problem with the fact that Oz is Ace, only with how he is vehemently and unapologetically physically attracted to Oswald. He would’ve pursued a more intimate relationship with him after only having shared a dorm-room for a few months, but he didn’t trust himself in not taking things too far for Oz’s sake. He’s not much for showing physical forms of affection, but Jim knows that at the slightest spark of a fire, no matter how small, he’d have a hard time _not_ touching Oswald everywhere, not peppering him with the love and affection he so obviously deserves, _not_ focusing on making him breathless at every chance he got and that, that already hurt before when it came to pretending to be a couple over the holidays for the sake of their moms to stop worrying they might’ve been _lonely_ , and even if their relationship will never amount to anything more going on between them, Jim feels they can both easily deny ever being lonely when they have each other.

As friends, that is.

He isn’t aware of the despondent silence stretching between them once more as he zones out on the methodical spinning of his long emptied glass of water, not until Harvey nervously hums to clear his throat and Jim gives him a noncommittal shrug. “I’m not mad, ‘is no big deal.” 

Harvey keeps looking at him with apology in his eyes and Jim has to huff a laugh. “Seriously Harv, don’t sweat it,” he waves him off with what he hopes is anything but a melancholic smile. “Even if there was something there, Oz is still good with cards, and I don’t think I’m smart enough to catch his bluffs.” He smiles up at Harvey once again, and he can feel it revealing more of his spilled heart than he intended to with the way Harvey seems to be mirroring the hurt.

“I think I’ll be heading out now,” Jim excuses himself with a sigh and an iterated clap on Harvey’s shoulder, repeating his actions of settling his mug to the center of the table and gripping the back of his chair before shoving off. “Tell Scottie I said hi,” he comments with a sly grin as he eyes the redhead behind the bar. Harvey stops in the middle of raising his beer mug for another drink and shoots a glance over his shoulder, the foam fizzing over the rim slightly from the sudden halt. He turns back to hiss at Jim.

“Hey, hey that’s not fair!”

“Don’t comment on my non-existent love life and I won’t on yours,” Jim derides as he picks up a peanut and flicks it towards Harvey.

“Yeah, sure buddy, whatever. I’ll see you around,” he dismisses Jim with a scoff and a wave.

* * *

He wasn’t entirely lying when he said he had other things to do at the apartment; he’d heard Oswald mention preferring to stay in and watch a movie, so it came as a slight disappointment for Jim to come home to the dark and quiet of a sleeping roommate.

He makes it through the front door with a stumble, kicking his shoes off in the process of clinging onto the door frame for dear life. He knows Oswald would kill him if he ever caught him wearing any shoes inside the apartment, so he leaves them with the rest of their collection by the door.

Everything is still fuzzy around the edges for Jim, the world moving at a delay with each turn of his head, and he makes an effort to slump into the kitchen for some water to help clear his mind. He means to get a glass to drink from, but he instead turns the tap on and shoves his head underneath it, tilting his head back and forth to let the stream cool him down.

He manages to get a few lazy gulps out of the faucet before turning it off and shoving himself off of the counter. He weaves between the card table and milk crate recycling that makes up their dining room to cut around the sofa they bought from goodwill and nearly eats it when his shin makes contact with a hard piece of wood that wasn’t there when he first left.

_The coffee table finally came in_ he thinks with a painful hiss and a rub of his blooming skin.

He stumbles some more as he goes down the hallway leading to their bedrooms, stopping here and there to first shrug off his jacket and then to fight with his shirt. He’s stopped momentarily outside of Oswald’s door with a slump when he stills at the sound of, _something._

He’s not sure what it is, but it makes him freeze just a mere foot away from the door, turning his head to stare at the doorknob that leads into-, well, he’s not really sure what. He’s never stepped foot inside of Oswald’s room, hardly ever had a chance to glance inside the few rare occasions he’d left the door open. As much as he knows about Oswald, which does feel like a lot, he feels like he’s missing a piece of the puzzle by not knowing what’s inside those four walls.

But right now the only thing he’s wondering about behind the door is if Oswald is _okay,_ because the sound repeats through the stillness of the apartment and it sure as hell sounds like he’s in pain.

_Probably another bad night for his knee_ , he thinks solemnly. He’s hesitant to walk away, knowing that he might need help getting the medication he keeps in the bathroom’s medicine cabinet, or, if he finally moved it to his room like Jim has been hounding him to, at least getting him a glass of water from the kitchen.

He’s standing there in the middle of the hallway with his shirt bunched around his elbows and a hard stare into the door when he finally realizes he’s being an idiot waiting for something that isn’t going to happen when he stops mid-turn at Oswald calling out a pained “F-fuck,” followed by a gasp.

“Oswald?” he calls out gently, far too gently for Oswald to have heard it through the wood and the insulation but damn it he’s usually far more self-restrained when it comes to his language, and right now something is _not, right_ , for him to be so vulgar about an aching knee. Jim’s stuck with his body facing his bedroom door and his face turned so sternly in the direction of Oswald’s that he nearly falls over himself when Oswald calls out his name.

“Oswald,” he calls out more sternly, a question inside of a demand to know if he’s okay, unsure if he’s being heard through the door but Oswald nonetheless calls out his name again, more painful desperation behind this one than the first. He must’ve heard him, it’s probably bad enough that he needs help getting off the bed and Jim throws the door open without a second thought. Or self-restraint.

“Oswald, are you alr-”

There’s a scream, blurs of red velvet and deep blues, something being thrown towards his head but not before he catches sight of creamy skin under grey cotton and Jim is frozen in place halfway through the bedroom door frame and his brain is going into a hard reset because this, _this_ , was _not_ how he pictured his Friday night going.

Oswald is holding onto his comforter for dear life as he bunches it desperately over his waist with one hand while the other yanks on the edge of the sweatshirt he’s wearing because he’s half-naked, and blushing so violently his freckles stand out prominently across his face and he’s half-naked, and calling out for Jim after having said fuck probably for the first time in his life and _he’s HALF. NAKED-_

He’s trying to process everything at once but his brain decides to only focus on the small of Oswald’s alabaster skin still revealed through a gap between the sheets and his sweatshirt. _His_ sweatshirt. Jim’s. The one that had been missing since their first Christmas, right there hanging off of Oswald’s shoulders, the USMC logo glaring right back at him through the haze of confusion.

_So that’s where it went_ \- he thinks with a huff of disbelief, as if _that’s_ the only thing his mind is struggling to comprehend at the moment. 

“You’re not, hurt?” he finally manages to ask after a while, more to himself than to Oswald, and it seems to knock Oswald off his embarrassment long enough to respond to Jim with a confused “N-no?” from his upright position against the bed-frame.

“O-kay,” he drawls, leaning against the door and running a finger across his forehead. “Let me-, just give me a moment to process this, if you don’t mind.”

“Jim, please! Just, it’s not what it looks like-” Oswald starts to beg but is cut off with a stern glare from Jim because everything he thought he knew so far is being thrown back in his face. His chest hurts from how hard his heart is beating against it, he’s lightheaded from the rush of information he’s getting and when he thinks he’s used to things being one way here is life twisting it the other fucking way and skewing his sense of what is real and what is this rabbit hole he’s tripped into.

“Jim,” Oswald says with desperation, and Jim thinks his legs are about to give out from underneath him so he decides to fall against the frame and slide his way down to the ground. “You-, You’re... what-” Jim tries to start his question, but isn't sure what it is he’s trying to ask.

He looks up to his roommate for an inkling of an idea, but Oswald looks like he’s about to cry any second now so he instead looks back down to his hands, still holding his bunched shirt with the wet spots around the neckline. It’s only then he feels the water dripping down his back and sprinkled around his shoulders, falling off his low hanging locks of hair.

“You, _lied_?”

“N-no!” Oswald cries out so fast he nearly cuts Jim off. His hands are outstretched towards the door, but he pulls in his fists and burrows them into the comforter with a wince. “A-at least, not at first, I mean I didn’t mean to, it just…” he slumps into his bed, his head hanging so low his bangs are completely obscuring his face from Jim’s point of view.

“Happened?” Jim supplies, but Oswald remains silent from his perch. He rubs his hand against the side of his face, his fingers working into his scalp as he tries to piece together whatever this, _is._ He falls even further down the frame and brings one of his knees up to drape an arm across it.

“It just, happened,” Oswald finally breaks through the silence, and Jim looks up expecting to see him still slumped over, but he’s sitting with his back straightened out and his head held high, his sea-green eyes cutting sharply into him.

“I hope you understand this is, really hard for me to wrap my head around because, last I thought you were supposed to be _ace_ -”

“I _was!”_ Oswald lashes out, then holds himself with restraint. “I am,” he says instead, the fire behind his voice dimmed out. He slumps back down against the headboard with a sigh, his soft hair shifting over his forehead in a frizzled out, fresh-out-of-the-shower way. Jim is too busy staring at the way it shines on its own without the aid of hair product that he takes in a quiet breath of surprise when Oswald speaks again.

“Hard for you, I’M the one who has to deal with not knowing what’s going on with his sexuality.”

He sighs, sinks into the safety of his blood-red sheets. “It’s just-, I never understood the need behind it. Never wanted it from anyone, _last_ thing I wanted from anyone, god,” he adds with a tone of slight disgust. “I was fine with the little urges I would get here and there, always pushed them aside as something my body wanted but didn’t need, certainly not _me,_ not something _I_ needed for myself.

But, suddenly, I _did_ want, and from someone, for once and- and things got, complicated.”

They let the silence stretch between them, neither knowing how to break the tension without it shattering around them. 

“How long have, you-” Jim trails off the question without knowing how to finish it, the hesitation in his voice heavily evident.

“Known?” Oswald responds with embitterment, the smile of something long lost fighting its way to surface.

“Been calling out my name,” Jim says instead. He can’t look up to Oswald when he says it but he knows he has to if he wants an honest answer. The roaring in his ears deafens the room around him and he’ll be lost without a reply if he doesn’t look up to read it off of Oswald’s face.

Oswald looks like he’s searching for a prayer, with the way his eyes divert everywhere else but to meet Jim’s. He closes his eyes with a furrow, pinches the bridge of his nose with a deep exhale as he lets out his admission. “Since winter break.”

Jim nods in understanding, as if Oswald answered a complex equation instead of confessing his feelings; although he can’t blame him, it’s long enough to be sure that the changes he was going through were real, but not long enough to want to act on any- “Of last year.”

Jim’s falling.

Well, he’s still leaning against the door with his ass planted on the hardwood floor, but he swears someone took the rug out from beneath him and he fell through somehow because, surely that’s not what he heard?

Alright, so maybe Oswald _did ju_ st admit to crushing on him for almost two years now, two years of _living_ together, but _surely_ that’s not what he meant.

Right?

He shifts his leg outside the door-frame into the hall and ends up nudging it against something soft lying on the floor. With a tilt of his foot he sees it’s the stuffed penguin he got Oswald as the thank you gift for their first Christmas together. He glances up towards the bed and realizes the damn toy was within reach if he threw it the moment he barged in the room.

Which meant he's been sleeping with the stuffed penguin that he got him. _Last_ Christmas. 

“I don’t, I don-, what,” Jim stutters in a panic as everything comes crashing down on him again, fanning out his hands and grasping at the invisible straws scattered around him on the floor. He puts his focus on wringing out his shirt instead as he tries to collect his thoughts. “Since last, how… why did- why didn’t you say _anything_?”

Oswald responds with silence, working on tracing the stitching of his quilted comforter instead.

“Oswald _please_ , I just, I _need_ to know, if you’ve known for this long why you haven’t said anythi-”

“Because I didn’t want to lose what we have!”

Jim blinks, taken aback. Oswald is griping the life out of the comforter once more, hands fisted into the royal blue fabric so tightly the paisley pattern that decorates the surface is nothing but ponds of gold submitting under his unyielding grip.

He looks at Jim with desperation, blinking back tears and swallowing down unspoken words, the look in his eyes begging him to say something and listen silently all at the same time.

“I like you, Jim. I _really_ , really like you. I enjoy the time we spend together and the things you’ve done to accommodate me. The movies, the quiet nights in, hell going to the _grocery_ store! Any time we spend together somehow feels like I couldn’t spend it better anywhere else. You’re one of the few people who _bother_ and I didn’t want to push you away with needless feelings if there was even a remote chance of them being unrequited. I already feel like I’m grasping at any chance to be with you, and it just, I-” Oswald runs off with a sigh, hands working nervously into his thigh. All Jim can do is blink a few times before responding.

“Oswald. It’s not even ten o’clock yet. Why do you think I’m home so early?”

Oswald looks genuinely confused, but at least he stops trying to force his fist into his leg. “I heard you say something about watching a movie, crashing on the sofa,” Jim answers with a shrug and an innocent smile.

“Yeah, I might’ve lied about that,” Oswald responds with a snuffle and an impish grin. “I figured,” Jim snorts, taking in the companionable silence that follows.

He heaves out a sigh before anything else, letting Oswald know that his time on the floor is up. “I uh, think we should both get some rest,” Jim tells him with a nervous smile, but before he can fully stretch himself off the floor Oswald nearly flies off the bed with a cry of “Wait!”, halfway aware of his predicament _underneath_ the thick blanket only _after_ it slips enough to reveal a sliver of his bared thigh to Jim. Enough to glue Jim to his spot on the floor.

He nervously clutches the comforter over himself once more, at a loss to continue his sudden outburst. “W-would you,” he stutters with a struggle. “H-here? Just for tonight? I just, I-I don’t think I can be alone, right now.” Oswald isn’t looking at him, more focused on making sure the blanket is covering him more appropriately, but Jim beams up to him nonetheless.

“Yeah. Yeah, that… that sounds okay.”

He doesn’t give himself enough time to realize the implications behind saying yes, and just as he’s choking himself up trying to take it back Oswald looks up to him through his bangs with a shy smile, and God, why hadn’t he seen it before? The way he _looks_ at him, like he’s something to worship, something worthy of such admiration. Jim swallows around the thought before he does something stupid, like say the wrong thing.

“Let me just, I was on my way to the bathroom so I’ll,” he motions towards the hallway, “It’ll just take a sec.” Oswald nods quickly, hands flying out restlessly to straighten anything withing leaning reach.

“I’ll, uh, get myself into something more, _appropriate_.”

“You don’t have to,” Jim calls out before closing his eyes with a tight frown, and boy he can slap himself for how short _that_ self-discipline lasted. “What I meant was,” he says through a gritted smile before opening his eyes back up again, “-don’t go out of your way for me. I’m the one who barged in without knocking first,” he finishes with a shrug.

“Jim,” Oswald deadpans. “After our dorm period was up I could’ve moved anywhere else, somewhere closer to the campus, _further away_ from Harvey, and yet I still moved in with you. It’s a little too late for the warning.”

Jim thinks he’s falling again, but this time it feels almost as if he’s, floating? Everything feels soft and light around him, and if the realization of Oswald willingly keeping himself within air strike proximity of _Harvey_ for Jim’s sake doesn’t block the oxygen from his brain, he needs to make a move soon before it does.

“I’ll, be right back,” he says with a smile and a lazy wave towards the end of the hall.

Things are still fuzzy around the edges for him, but this time there seems to be a soft hue following his vision. He glides down the hall towards the bathroom they share, and it isn’t until he steps in that the sudden exposure to the lingering humidity trapped inside sobers him up instantly and he fumbles to a halt barely halfway through the doorway.

What, in the _hell_ is he _doing?_ He looks around in a panic, the warm moisture in the air intermingled with the wafting leftover of a cooling cologne kicks him into overdrive, and he realizes he must have the scent of cheap beer and dollar hot dogs clinging to his skin. He can’t hop into the shower without risking Oswald hearing the tap go off, and he’s DEFINITELY not going to pull a whore bath. He’ll just get everything wet without achieving anything.

He stands there contemplating his choices when he decides to run the tub on the lowest setting without turning the shower-head on. His head is already wet anyway, he just needs to run some soap over his skin. Quick in and out, easy.

What he didn’t expect was to fizzle out the moment his hand touched the knob to find it covered in moisture. Oswald had recently taken a shower not even an hour before Jim got home if the humidity that’s trapped inside the bathroom is anything to go by, and that much is obvious. But it’s one thing to observe and another entirely to _acknowledge_.

He tries to zero in on the little bubble of absent thought bouncing around in his head to help him drown out everything else as he lets the water get to temp. He manages to block out _most_ of the distracting ordeal and even begins to lather up no problem.

At least, it isn’t a problem until he tries to figure out how to rinse the suds off, his flexibility long trebucheted out the window. He feels his stomach drop with the shuffling slip fight he’s having with his feet and the wet porcelain of the tub, shooting out his hand in a panic for the soap holder to stabilize himself.

There’s a clang of something falling off the holder and slipping around the tub before settling between his feet, and he has to hold himself from falling over when he realizes it’s Oswald’s bar of soap. That he just used recently. To rub all over his body.

He stares at the bar of soap with impatient anger and an irritated sigh.

“Fuck you, Harvey.”

He spins the handle a little too aggressively, wincing to a halt when it lets out a sharp squeak in protest. He sticks his hand out of the curtain and pats around for the nearest towel hanging off the wall mount, wrapping it around himself before freezing to a halt because he realizes it’s cold, because still wet. Considering Oswald had just taken a shower. And used this towel to dry his body. Which was naked.

Dragging a hand down his tired face he feels like he’s twelve again, just recently discovering what sex is and panicking over every little thing he’s overreacting to. He makes his way to the counter and grips the edge of the laminate, glancing up to his reflection staring back at him through the fogged mirror, looking just as frustrated as he feels.

As he makes quick work of scrubbing his teeth clean he blankly realizes the counter is neatly divided in half with their various products. To one side is his quaint set-up that screams military habit with his deodorant, body spray, and lone bottle of aftershave set neatly apart from each other, his comb laying parallel to his grooming products.

On the other side, well, Jim has no idea what exactly is going on with the cluttered mess that _seems_ to have a structure to the way it's, separated? Although he can't help his curiously observant nature in poking around, eyeing the bulks of sprays and creams sitting on the mini shelves Jim helped install for Oswald when they first moved in.

His eyes glance over the labels of hair spray, gel, mousse, and volumizer, and he glares at the two separate stacks of jars labeled wax and pomade trying to make out the difference. He gives up when he realizes there is another shelf piled with even more product.

There's a moment then when he's suddenly aware of the effort Oswald puts into his appearance, and the fascination seems to have only grown since freshman year. 

There's an array of eyeliners, chapsticks, even a couple of lipsticks sticking out of a pouch shoved against the wall, and Jim feels dizzy at the image of Oswald's lips dripping with red velvet. He tries to shake the thought away while blindly reaching for a pile of makeup containers stacked in the corner.

_Blush?_ _Foundation?_ There seem to be scores of these little tablets in a variety of shades overflowing on the counter. He grabs a small flesh-colored tube from another collection, the name confusing him even more than the powders.

_Concealer? Conceal what, blemishes?_

He leans into the sink to clear his mouth and looks up to the mirror to notice a small blemish of his own rising to the surface, just underneath his chin. _Maybe I should get Oswald to teach me how to use some of this,_ he considers as he puts his toothbrush up and sets the tube back down.

He's about to turn around and head out, hand halfway towards flipping the light switch when he eyes the row of bottles underneath the mirror, direct access to the various scents of Cobblepot.

He can't help it, picking each little bottle up and uncapping them, taking a whiff of some familiar scents, others not as common. There's one hidden behind the pile of foundation that seems to be used more often than the rest, if the worn label was any indication of it having been sprayed more than a handful of occasions.

He brings it up to his nose to take a whiff like the rest, an instant spark of recognition to the light, fruity smell that Oswald usually sports. He turns the label around to get a good look at the brand and nearly drops the bottle at the sight of _pheromone perfume_.

He puts the bottle back in a panic, slaps his hand over the switch to turn the light off, and quietly makes his way back to his bedroom to pull over some clothing. He's shrugging on a sweatshirt when he thinks back on the smell, the instant recognition coming from the fact that he had just recently smelled it on Oswald during their last outing to the museum.

Actually, most of his memories of the fragrance are from times they had gone out to do something together, whether it was catching a matinee or meeting up for a weekend lunc-

Oh.

_Oh._

Oswald was, courting him.

Oswald was treating it all like _dates_.

He thoughtlessly hangs the towel off one of the arms of his floor lamp before turning to walk out of his room, the workings of a grin making his mouth bend awkwardly. The eyeliners, the glossy sheen to his lips, the meticulous sculpting of hair he always seems to spend a ridiculous amount of time perfecting-

And this entire time all Jim ever bothered to do was pop in a breath mint and run a wet hand through his hair. He's such a blind jackass.

He stops for a moment outside Oswald’s door, a little panic shooting up his spine as he thinks his heart is about to implode in on itself inside his chest. He’s trying to work out the impact this might have on their friendship if he goes in there, a million and one scenarios being dragged out between his ears already weighing him down when he hangs his head in a slump and rests it against the door. 

He knows he’ll have to face it eventually and forces himself to stop overthinking it. It’s much easier to do so once he spots the penguin still laying on the ground. He lets out a little snort and picks it up with a lopsided smile. He’s too busy being distracted by the plush toy to notice his heart stopped racing, making sure to actually _knock_ this time before opening the door.

When he finally creaks it open he must still have that stupid grin plastered on his face because Oswald looks over to him with a confused smile of his own, probably wondering what has Jim in such a mood. He’s about to speak when he notices Oswald changed out of the sweatshirt into one of his pajama button-ups. He tries not to let his disappointment show as he lifts the plush in silent answer before explaining with a chuckle, “Nothing, no, I- just funny. Didn’t realize you kept it this long. Honestly didn’t think you would.”

Oswald lets out a snort and turns back to folding down the blankets with a gentle smile. “Yeah, neither did I. But it does serve as nice support for my knee when it acts up here and there, so I thought why the hell not."

Jim watches from the door as Oswald carefully averts his eyes away from the stuffed animal, seeming to look like he's hiding disappointment himself. Maybe he wishes it was something he could show off. Did he insult Oswald by giving it to him in the first place? But he wouldn't have kept it if that was the case-

"Coming to bed?" 

Jim blinks out of his thoughts, looks up to Oswald holding the violet comforter and tan sheets back in open invitation. “You, changed the sheets?”

Oswald gives a modest shrug. “Just thought, you know, less awkward.”

Jim can feel a nosebleed trying to fight its way up and he turns away quickly to place the penguin on the nearest surface, which so happens to be a heavy dresser. He looks around and notices most of the furniture looks like its made from something heavy or another, rich colors of deep reds and browns on every wooden surface. Even the bed sits high off the floor on a queen-sized four-poster bed.

“Did you move your old room in here?”

There’s a warmth to the quaint smile Oswald tries to hide as he fluffs the pillows in place. “It makes me feel more, at home. Dad helped me pick out some of the furniture and I thought it’d be a waste to just let it sit in an unused room back home. I still like to have some of his influence around.”

Jim can relate, feel deeply for still wanting to have a connection to his deceased father. Oswald knows he still carries his father’s stationery with him, has seen him struggle to properly handle the calligraphy pen on occasion. Oswald has tried to teach him how to write with the fluid ink time and again, but it’s the sentimental feeling that matters to Jim, and he’s grateful for his roommate even trying to lend a hand.

He finally makes his way towards the bed, lifting the covers and sitting on the edge of the mattress all the meanwhile holding his breath. He doesn't get one leg all the way in before stopping suddenly, taken aback by the feel of the bed-sheets.

"Holy shit."

Oswald pauses from his side, looking over blankly. "What?"

"These sheets are super soft."

Jim rolls his leg back and forth, climbing entirely into the bed and running his hands over the tan fabric lining the violet comforter. He's patting the blankets down when he looks over towards Oswald eyeing him in unamused disbelief.

He settles into the other side of the bed while keeping his distance from Jim. He takes his time in adjusting himself and turns to see Jim still patting the blankets with an overenthusiastic smile. His face is still stoic but Jim can see the beginnings of a smile crack the edges of his lips, so he continues patting until Oswald coughs a laugh and holds his hands down for him to stop.

"Seriously, I don't think even the nicest hotels I've stayed at had sheets this soft."

"Well that's not saying much, really, but thank you," Oswald ribs, a sly smile curling the edges of his lips. Jim grabs the pillow behind him and shoves it into Oswald's side with a laugh, earning him a smack in retaliation.

"Jesus," he chuckles, holding on to his pillow for the night with nothing short of awe. "Is this fucking silk?"

"What?" Oswald fluffs his back onto the headboard, adjusting himself to lie down. "It's good for your skin."

"Explains why I didn't see any of those skin-care creams on your half of the counter."

Oswald twists on his side and eyes him through his bangs. "Looking into my personal belongings, now?"

"I was curious. You're always, you know, looking good. Smelling nice." Jim shuffles into the blankets and stares at the ceiling. He doesn't mean to be self-deprecating, but he can't help it when compared to Oswald. He doesn't have much to show for being a desirable partner, and he wishes he would work harder into being the person someone would proudly show-off to others. "Way more effort into caring for yourself than I do."

"Says the one who did a whole calisthenics routine when we were trapped in our dorm room during a flood." 

He can see Oswald turn to face him from the corner of his eye, and he can't help but turn to look at him head-on. "Look, we all take care of ourselves in our own ways, and me taking care of my physical appearance does not in any way diminish the work you do to take care of your physical health. You have more than just your charmingly good looks, Jim Gordon, And I for one will not allow you to talk down upon yourself this way.

"If anything else, this lays on a mutual benefit to both our ends. Just think of it as, ah, I'm the beauty to your brawn."

He shrugs with a smirk, and Jim smiles back towards the ceiling. After a few moments in the stilled silence, Oswald quietly leans over to dim the light of his bedside lamp and curls himself on his side.

"You sleep with the light on?" 

"What, don't you?" Oswald responds in a hushed mumble, possibly falling under the brink of sleep. Jim doesn't know how he could be so calm and falling asleep already when he feels like running a few hundred laps around the apartment complex himself.

He tries to calm his hummingbird heart with a few takes of measured breathing, but all he can inhale is Oswald's cologne, shampoo, thing. He turns his head to follow the smell, finds himself ironically missing the pheromone perfume as he stares at the back of Oswald's head. He marvels at how different it looks when washed out of the gels and wax, stares at the pink tinge that tips his ears, and finds his eyes flitting over the peppering down his neck when he's hit with the sensation of his brain face-palming itself.

Foundation. Concealer. _Freckles_.

“You know, I couldn’t help but notice-”. Jim pauses, not sure where he’s going with it, not offering much into conscious thought if Oswald is still awake or not. “Why do you cover your freckles?" There's no immediate response, and he doesn't think much else other than to continue his one-sided conversation.

“I remember, when I first saw them, first saw _you_ , I thought they were breathtaking. Even though you were so quiet and angry,” Jim laughs at the ceiling, thinking back fondly at the memory of Oswald looking up to him from the ground as he tried to collect his things from where they spilled from his bag. “I kept thinking you were someone who could take a person’s words away with just one look.

“But then I noticed over time you started covering them up, each time even more than before, until it looked like you never had any to begin with. Oswald, I don’t want you to have to hide yourself to feel comfortable, because there’s nothing wrong with the way you look in the first place.” 

There’s nothing but silence in the room with him, and for a moment he thinks Oswald really is asleep. That is, until he vibrates with a shuddering breath, a quiet sob as he rolls his arm to rub at his eyes. He looks over his shoulder to Jim, a watery gaze holding his weakly.

“I never thought you noticed. I didn’t think you cared.”

“Oswald,” he chides with sympathy. “How could I not notice an angel losing its wings?”

Oswald huffs in disbelief, curling around another sob as he sucks in his breath to clear his mind. He’s filled with need, then, or at least Jim thinks so, because he shakes his head, shuffles his shoulders and wriggles himself backward into Jim’s side, and Jim can’t help it then, can’t fight his instinct to turn into Oswald and wrap himself around him, offer him his affection and protection.

They still in the silence, Jim rocking them back and forth as Oswald drags his fingers over Jim's arm sleeve. He disrupts their peace with an airy snort.

"What?"

"Nothing." Oswald tries to dismiss it with a shrug but focuses more intently on the sleeve, plucking a stray strand. "Why'd you have to wear a shirt?"

"I didn't think you'd be comfortable with me being completely topless in your bed."

"I mean, okay, considerate," Oswald shrugs, "but a _long_ sleeve? Aren’t you going to sweat through your sleep? You would've been fine just wearing what you had on before."

"One, that shirt was around Harvey and B, I changed to make you feel less, awkward."

"You still shouldn't have gone through the trouble of changing if it isn't what you usually wear to bed anyway. Your comfort is just as important."

Jim can't help but squint his eyes in suspicion, the gears in his head turning ever so slowly. "Wait. Is that-, Is that why you looked upset earlier?"

He can’t see it, but he can definitely hear a little condescending sniff. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to," Oswald denies, and god damn it even while lying down he raises his nose to him. Jim never thought he'd be turned on by someone being so facetious.

"Uh-huh. You're just upset I didn't come to bed shirtless. What, with what you had on earlier you're one to talk."

Oswald gives him another air of dismissal. "Jim, how could you ever expect me to follow if I don't know what it is that you're implying?"

"Don't think I wouldn't notice you wearing my sweatshirt. Where'd you even find it? I thought I left it at my moms and it eventually got lost."

He hesitates in his response, seemingly distracted by the strand hanging off of Jim's arm. "I, realized it was tucked into my clothing after I settled back at the dorms and you had left for training. I guess it was accidentally folded into my luggage when we packed up."

_Accidentally_. "Hm. And you kept it? This entire time?"

Oswald nods silently, still plucking at the sleeve.

"Why?"

There's a slight pause before the delivery; nonetheless, it still catches Jim way the fuck off guard.

"Because it helps me come that much harder, when I have it on."

There's a gentleness in the delivery of Oswald's reply that causes something primal inside of Jim to snap, a rubber band that has been stretched taught finally tearing apart from the strain.

"Then you should've kept it on," he growls into Oswald's ear.

He can’t hold himself back, can’t resist leaning in and burying his nose into Oswald’s nape, take in the smell of soap and cologne and breathe out desperation into his ear. He doesn’t mean to, not consciously, but he ends up choking around a quiet “ _f-fuck”_ when Oswald slowly grinds himself into Jim’s aching cock.

He hisses in through his nose, and god, Oswald is so _responsive_ , the way he rolls his head with a whine, gives Jim more room to nuzzle into him, his back curving so beautifully to present himself, to offer his ass which Jim _gladly_ grinds into wantonly.

They’re all gasps and breaths, a mess of shuffling blankets and ruffling clothes, Jim trying to grip onto every part of Oswald while simultaneously undoing his button-up, latch onto any bared skin his lips can reach while Oswald is having trouble deciding where to put his own hands.

He unclasps the last of the buttons before reaching overhead to pull at Jim’s hair, runs his fingers over the arm tucking into his waist, nips and licks at the fingers Jim’s grazing just underneath his lips and if _that_ isn’t a fucking promise-

Jim grips onto Oswald’s hip with burning fingers, a silent plea to touch, to _feel_ , hand ghosting over the fabric of his pajama bottoms aching with need, clinging to nothing but desperation.

But then Oswald-, Oswald wraps his cool digits around the warmth of Jim’s forearm and _gives,_ and Jim doesn’t have half a mind to do anything else but take, nothing else matters when he feels Oswald’s push of affirmation, his mind clouded over in a perfumed haze and the nerve endings on his fingers in sensory overload when he feels the fabric bunching in his hands.

The death grip of a man high off of life.

He shoves Oswald’s pants as far as his arm will let him, his lips leaving a trail of flames in their wake as he works his way through the fabric down his back to continue bruising the cream of his skin. He wants to see the proof of him in Oswald’s skin, beautiful markings of roses and plums blooming over the scatter of stardust his freckles seem to chart across his flesh.

He’s enthralled, mesmerized by the way the flecks of discoloration seem to be _everywhere_ ; across his waist, wrapped around his thigh, up his back and disappearing under the hem of his nightshirt, and as much as he wants to map the constellations on his spine he knows there’s a much more satisfactory reward just underneath his palms.

He starts working, kneading, fingers rolling and curling into soft supple skin and soon enough he’s lost in the motions. He’s too engulfed in the hypnotizing allure of working his hands into the globes of Oswald’s ass to register the words at first, blinking his eyes with a shake of his head to bring them into focus.

“Lube. Drawer,” Oswald repeats, gesturing towards the bedside table. With a nod Jim reaches for the drawer, freezing momentarily when the vivid array of colors blindsides him for a second.

He figured Oswald had a way of, taking care of himself. What he didn’t take into account was _how_. Judging by the, _selection_ , Oswald prefers a little variety in his free time.

He gives himself a coat and tries not to overthink it. Tries not to notice how Oswald huffs into his arm when Jim drags his cockhead, or how he bites into his sleeve to muffle a groan as Jim pushes through his tight ring. With one swift push he bottoms out, engulfed in velvety heat, abdomen pressed flush to the curve of his ass,

and freezes.

He overthinks it.

“I know we’ve both waited long enough for this,” Oswald pants after an embarrassingly prolonged pause, making Jim frown in return; “but I swear, so help you God Jim if you don’t move this second I _will_ stab you.”

He huffs out a laugh because of _course_ he would, the situation so absurd that he finds his roommates threat entirely endearing, hoping Oswald can tell how completely enamored he is with the way he caresses the dip in his hip, hopes he can feel the love he pours into his fingers digging into his ass, the lust-driven want behind the roll of his hips as he starts up a rhythm neither of them will be able to keep up with.

It’s like a challenge, at first, trying to fuck each other without making a noise, but after a while of hushed whimpers and whispered gasps they can’t hold back anymore; Jim’s grunts coming out strained, almost painful, while Oswald cries his voice hoarse into the sleeve of his arm and his fingers grip their death into the sheets shifting underneath them.

He’s not sure what’s dragging him into the abyss, laying his mind into a flatline. It could be driven by the momentum making their bodies rock together. Maybe it’s the bed letting out its high pitched protest with every dip of the mattress, Oswald shooting his hand out to trap his fingers between the bed frame and the wall so the wood can stop slamming against the paint.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t want it to go away, doesn’t want it to end. If he can spend the rest of eternity buried inside of Oswald, he thinks he’ll be able to manage.

He keeps pounding against his ass as fast as his hips will let him, the feeling of his balls dragging against Oswald’s perineum making him lightheaded, the sounds of skin slapping and Oswald breathlessly screaming out his name intoxicatingly deafening.

If the neighbors didn’t know Jim’s name before, he’s sure as fuck they’ll never forget it now.

He slows himself with a groan, relishing in the drag against his dick when he pulls out of Oswald’s tight ring as he leans back on his heels to give him a chance to catch his breath, decide if and when he wants to flip over. But before he can pull all the way out, Oswald reaches back and makes a grab for his thigh, tries to pull him back in until he’s balls deep inside him again, hold him in place just a little bit longer. Jim has to catch his breath once more after hissing most of it out.

“I’m-, I’m not going anywhere, if you don’t want me to.”

Oswald gives a sluggish nod into his arm, mouth slack around the words he ends up moaning out. “Just, a little longer, just like this.”

Jim nods in response even though Oswald still has his eyes closed. He closes his own and settles in the feeling, rocking his head back to take it all in. He hangs his head for a while and lets himself droop forward, following his forehead until it rests against Oswald’s nape, Jim’s chest flat against his back.

Oswald lets out a groan when he feels Jim shift slightly inside of him with a throb, his hips lifting almost instinctively to try and get him in deeper. Jim snorts out a sigh through his nose, slithers his arm underneath Oswald to hold him closer, and as fast as they had slowed their roll he’s just as quick to get back to fucking the life out of Oswald, his hips doing short little snaps before he full-on hammers into him, holding him in place with one hand on his hip and the other pulling him by the shoulder.

Oswald arches his back, curls his fingers over Jim’s hand on his shoulder, holds the other on his hip firmly in place. He rolls his head and Jim rests his temple against Oswald’s, nuzzling into him heedfully with a warmth that is nothing like the forcefulness that's going on down below.

Jim’s cock is practically being milked at this point, with the way Oz’ plump ass keeps engulfing him with every pump, and if he doesn’t stop soon, he’ll-

“Oz, I, I can’t- I’m gonna,”

“No, not- yet,” Oswald breathes out, clenching around Jim like a damn vice and if he thought he was about to tip over the edge, he’s using all of his will to control not exploding inside of Oswald. He bites down on his lip and pulls out torturously slow, eyes winking shut as he tries to fend off that delicious release that has him so close to teetering over. Although, once he senses Oswald turn over underneath him and opens his eyes again, he nearly bites through his fucking lip at the sight of Oswald looking absolutely _wrecked_. 

He looks like he’s struggling to stay awake with one lid hanging lower than the other, openly panting with his lips covered in the sheen of his spit. His face is flushed from the overexertion he’s not used to, making his freckles stand out strikingly against the heated blush that spreads across his cheeks and over his nose, even spreading as far down his heaving chest where his skin lay bare underneath his opened button-up. There’s a puddle marring the soft sheets underneath him when he shifts his thigh and Jim can’t hold himself back when he realizes Oswald’s cock is throbbing to his heartbeat, throws himself over him to rut their dicks together and relishes in the keening whine he elicits from his roommate.

He leans back to shift his sweatshirt over his stomach, wanting to feel all of Oswald rubbing against his skin when nimble hands grasp at the hem of his sweats. "Off, _off_ ," is all Oswald says with a sort of lethargic cry as he tries to pull Jim's top off impatiently. With a chuckle Jim grips the collar and pulls it over his head in one motion, his hands ending up still stuck by the sleeves. Oswald groans and rips the remainder of the fabric off of him, relishing in satisfaction at having unobstructed access to the miles of James Gordon at his fingertips.

Jim locks his elbows underneath Oswald’s knees, cradles his bad knee with a gentle grasp as he rocks the tip of his cock against Oswald’s ass, dragging it filthily between the mounds of his cheeks with every push and pull of his hips. Before he can manage to push himself in, however, his eyes lock on Oswald’s blown-out pupils and it knocks the wind out of him. 

This is his roommate, whom he navigated through their first years of college together, helped each other out when it came to dealing with their families, a fleeting thought of the first time he realized Oswald is beautiful when he laughs pushed aside when Oswald’s legs wrap around his waist to pull him in deep with a sigh.

His friend, he thinks, over the sensation of heels digging into his ass as his hips piston in and out of Oswald’s.

This is his best _friend,_ he accepts, when Oswald coils his arms around his neck and pulls him down to slot their mouths together, whimpering around the moan that Jim breathes into him. He fists his hands into the silk on either side of the raven locks to the point he’s pretty sure the fabric will have to be darned, but he can’t be bothered to find it in himself to give a fuck once the sensation of blunt nails dragging through his scalp makes him blank out, a lone scratch burning its way over his nape and down his spine. 

He feels it, the wave of pleasure building up until it crashes over him, pulling him in and tearing him apart, his hips popping once, twice, before stuttering into a halt and he pushes what’s left of his breath through his nose to power through one last row of pistoning before burying himself as deep inside Oswald as he can reach, their lips still seared together, swallowing down Oswald’s desperate cries of relief. After a few measures of labored breathing, he hangs his head over Oswald’s shoulder, taking in the scent of cool metal and sweet cigar trapped in his sweat and all of a sudden his skin feels too hot.

His friend. His best friend.

He just fucked his best friend.

He rolls off of him carefully slow, not being able to ignore the mess that was holding them together by their stomachs where Oswald’s dick had been trapped between them. He leans over the edge of the bed to reach for his shirt, meaning to use it as a simple wipe off rag but finds himself torn between postponing the inevitable to have a few more moments of false peace, and properly taking care of Oz with the chance of bringing up what he would much rather keep down. He grabs his pajama pants instead, decides if it’s out of his control he could at least be decent about it and clean Oswald up.

The trip back and forth from the bathroom is wracking on him, but the build-up is even worse when he stands in front of Oswald floating in and out of consciousness with a wet hand towel and a looming sense of regret. He ignores the mosquito whine cutting through his mind as he warms the towel between his hands, doesn’t linger on the sensation of his fingers itching to touch Oswald directly as he passes the lukewarm towel over his stomach, coaxing out a drowsy hum from him.

The itching is unbearable when he dips the towel between Oswald’s legs.

He folds the towel in half, sets it on the nightstand and makes to slowly adjust himself by his side, afraid if he moves too fast he’ll shatter the bubble of peace they set up for themselves inside Oswald’s four-poster bed; afraid of what he might find staring back at him when he looks into Oswald’s eyes, that once he comes down from his high he’ll come to his senses and realize this was a mistake, _Jim_ was a mistake.

But then he does look, sees the way Oswald’s eyes clear from their haze and cut through his doubt, when he reaches his hand up to caress Jim’s jaw and rub his thumb back and forth over his bottom lip, pulls it down and leans in to taste Jim again, he _knows_. Just like he knew he was going to do his best to be like his father, and how he knew when walking into the recruitment office that this was a choice he was making for himself; just as he knew when getting to know Oswald for the first time, a bad storm trapping them inside the dorm room with nothing but homework and workouts to keep them entertained, that Oswald wouldn’t be _his_ mistake.

Jim has been selfless the entire twenty-six years of his life, but now, crawling back into the sweat cooled comforter with what he had once assumed was beyond his reach now resting in his arms, just this once, he wants to be completely selfish.

They shift themselves quietly under the blankets, an adjustment having Oswald’s back to Jim’s chest as they curl up together, both of their breaths evening out.

“Was it everything you imagined it to be?” Jim asks after a moment, a hand softly trailing up and down the button-up that still blankets length of Oswald’s sharp spine.

There’s a tense pause that stretches between them, one where barriers are built and honesty cuts deep, but Oswald visibly relaxes under Jim’s gentle touch, rolls over slightly to catch his eye. With the faintest shake of his head, he answers “No” through a somber smile.

“Thank god,” he follows up, the smile breaking way to something soft and welcoming as he turns back around and curls into his chest once more.

Jim can’t help but fall asleep with a grin on his face and his heart in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess which were my favorite sentences. Go on, guess :D (hint; if it made you laugh or sad it was probably it)
> 
> P.S. The Puerto Rican line about baseball players was given to me by a Puerto Rican. My Spouse. You're _Welcome_.
> 
> It is 6:30 in the morning. I have not slept. I will not learn.


End file.
